


Take it on

by Acnara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But not is just messed up, Dub-con maybe?, Harry's life was messy, M/M, Magic doesnt exist except it totally does AU, Minor Character Death, MotoGP, Motocross, Multi, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 05:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7831747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acnara/pseuds/Acnara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is Gryffindor's best motocross pilot. Fast, daring and maybe, just maybe, with something more than just skill in his sleeve. But right after winning the World Cup for the second time in a row he catches the eye of someone who plans on using his no so common skills in something that has nothing to do with races...</p><p>So Harry is still not sure how participating (winning, as Riddle said) the TT Isle of Man fits in all of this. And then life got even more complicated than usual.</p><p>"You know what you are asking me to do is basically suicide, right?"<br/>"Don't be stupid Mr Potter, your magic-"<br/>"Okay can we stop calling it magic? It weirds me out."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take it on

“AND THE BOY WHO LIVED DID IT AGAIN, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

The thunderous voice of the commentator was what took Harry out of his concentration state. As the adrenaline started to leave his body he felt his breathing slowing down and his heart starting to beat faster and faster as he looked up, slowly, and took his helmet off. The crowd went crazy, and Harry couldn’t help but smile, bright and proud and more than a bit smug.  
He had just won the world motocross competition. Again.

He threw his hands above his head and screamed along with the crowd, feeling more alive than he had felt in a long time.

“TWO YEARS NOW! THE UNKNOWN LITTLE BOY HAS GROWN IN FRONT OF OUR OWN EYES! LOOK AT YOUR BOY, UNITED KINGDOM, AND CHEER FOR YOUR CHAMPION, CROWNED AGAIN IN BARCELONA’S FINAL!”

Harry’s grin was huge, and when his support team threw third arms around him, he cried and laughed and lived.

-0-

“Well, that was really stupid.”

Harry looked at the monitor again.

“I don’t think it-“

“Yes, you obviously did not think. Do you see that last jump, Harry? Do you see how absolutely impossible is to land like you did? Do you see how utterly unreasonable that is? Do you?”

Ronald Weasley, Harry’s best friend but most importantly, his manager, glared at him. His furious red hair and thundering eyes pinned him to the spot, and Harry wasn’t really sure if he was supposed to answer that question or not. He wasn’t even sure if breathing too loudly would upset Ron even further, if that was even possible. His friend was standing in front of a huge monitor, with a long stick on his hand, pointing out every single mistake he had committed during his race. 

Mistakes like, well, using obvious not normal forces to land flawlessly after the biggest jump in the whole race, one he had definitely not been prepared enough to do.

“Because if you can see it -if I can see it- so can anyone else”

He bit his lip. Sometimes he really wondered how his life would have been of he had never told Hermione and Ron that what the media had started to call “Potter luck” a few years ago was a bit more than just luck.

Sometimes the scared little boy who lived in the cupboard under the stairs still stiffed and stopped breathing at the back of his mind whenever his friends mentioned his… ability. Sometimes that tiny part of him still wanted to run away from them.

But Harry was not a scared little boy anymore, and he trusted his friends. He loved them, even. He was not running away. He held Ron’s stare and nod slowly.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I felt myself loosing balance and it just automatically kicked in, I-“

“Harry!” yes, he was definitely not supposed to answer any questions. Ron was now not just angry, but he could also hear a bit of pity on his voice. That was the worst part, hearing the sadness there “You can’t let it control you, your… secret is dangerous!”

He was looking at him with those big eyes of his filled with pity. 

It had always been that way. Harry Potter was a champion for the world but his best friend seemed fixated with the little eleven year old he had met on a train station. Harry the orphan, Harry the child. Harry who needed protection from everything and couldn’t get it himself. 

Ron was caring. Ron was loving. Ron was asphyxiating.

“Maybe I should just leave” He stood up, unwilling to stand in the room for another second. This reason with his best friend was not new, but the moment Harry had entered international competition it had grew like a monster, hiding behind the parties and the jokes, looking at them through Ron’s scared eyes. Scared of what? That was the question he wanted to ask, but never did.  
Maybe he was scared of it, too. 

Scared of what, indeed. 

"Harry listen" he flicked his eyes at him for a second and Ron's anger seemed to melt from his face "this is not not like the old times, mate. This is not participating in a couple of races to get money to buy Ginny a birthday present. You said you wanted to go to first division for you. Well, this is first division. This is not a couple of drunk guys with a working mobile phone, this are periodists, analyzers, and entire teams who would sell their souls and their mother's to know how an almost newer can win the World Cup twice with such good times. We need to be careful, Harry."

Harry knew. Theoretically, at least. He knew his races had stopped being a game a long time ago, and he knew everyone was waiting for him to make a mistake so they could eat him whole, but at the same time it seemed strange to be so careful about something he didn't even understand in the first place. Yes there was something wrong with him. Yes, he could do certain things, but it's not like he could control it. He wasn't sure how he managed to do half of the things that happened to him. Right then and there he couldn't have been able to explain to Ron what had happened, how some part of him had just wanted to have a clean land so he could get the next curve as fast as possible, so somehow he had just... Clawed at floor to stay in position and dragged himself down perfectly.

It was not natural, he knew that much. It was not something he could help, either. It just happened. Ron knew.

The red headed boy took another long look at Harry and sighed. Pale hands rubbed his face for a second before another deep sight filled the room. Harry made sure to stare at the ground.

"I just..." Ron never finished. He sighed again, heavy and deep, and Harry could almost feel his eyes on him “I don’t want to loose you, mate. We don’t know what can happen, and Ii really dont want to find out”

Harry stared at the floor even harder, if possible. Ron had always been a great friend. By the looks of it, Harry was not exactly living up to it.

Anothet deep sigh -Harry had to ask himself how had most of his conversations with Ron been reduced to one sided sighing and heavly avoided eye contact- and the table in which Ron sat moaned as he got up. Harry heard footsteps walking right pass him, and for a second he hoped Ron would lay a hand on his shoulder, or pat his head like he used to do after his races before they got into international competition. Before the cameras filming every second and Harry's life and everyone around him hagended in the thin wire of 'dont let them see, or we are all fucked'

"Dont let the rest of the world see you Harry.”  
He wished he could answer him.

"Go change. the champions dinner starts in forty minutes'

Ron left the room, and Harry felt more lost than ever

-0-

Harry hated the fancy dinners organized by the FIM. Not only because he was forced to wear unconftable clothes that made him look like some kind of doll and make boring small talk with rich people that wanted to impress him with desorvitated amounts of money to either sleep with him or make him run for them, or in this case, because of the unholy warm weather of summer in Spain, but also because he was forced to aknowledge the existence of Draco Malfoy 

“My, my. look who is here, Mr. Scarredhead himself! Are you sure you are not lost, Potter? the kitchen is in the next corridor. I'm sure the will love to have some extra help in serving our dinner”

“Long time no see, Malfoy, lets thank the lord for that, I don’t think anyone would be able to survive long terrm exposure to you, but apparently not enough since you still have the humor of a six year old.”

Draco Malfoy was a very annoying, very rich prick.That was basically it. He was also a very famous road racer of motoGP Harry wanted nothing to do with. Everything about him, from his obviously freshly polished shoes to his prefectly jailed hair could fool you into thinking he was only your average preppy idiot with daddy issues but he was, in fact, a preppy idiot with daddy issues and his head so far up his arse he was able to check himself for prostate cancer.

He also hated Harry’s guts since the day he had beated Blaise Zabini, the motocross racer sponsored by his father, in last year's world cup.

The blond's right eye twitched, and Haryy let a small smirk play around the corners of his lips. Dealing with Malfoy was exhausting, but making him shut up was probably one of the only nice things he was going to get out from that whole night and hey, he would enjoy what he could get.

Malfoy eyed him up and down,and Harry unconciously lifted his chin a bit higher. He knew the kind of comment that Malfoy was about to make, and he knew it wasn’t going to be nice.

“And you still dress like you had just stole some some homeless man's clothes in your way to the party, I see. Or maybe those are just Weasley's.”

Harry’s teeth clenched and he felt his body tense. He knew his clothes were just as expensive as Malfoy’s. Hermione always made him dress in unpronounceable designers for those parties -'You represent a big companie harry, the photographers want to recognize your jacket'- but both Malfoy and him knew the comment hit close home. Before Harry had been approached by Gryffindor he had been competing to help the Weasley's with money he gained in the races. bit of an urban legend that along with his now notorious donations to orphan charities had given him the fame of having a hero complex. Which Malfoy seemed to find amusing and outrageous at the same time.

"Please, keep talking. I always yawn when I’m interested."

"What’s wrong, Potter?”' Malfoy looked amused, and that was not good. The night was looking really awful right then, how long had Ron said he had to stay there again? 'Afraid of being alone in the big bad real world, without you little friends? Where are they, anyway? 

“That’s none of your business, now is Malfoy?”

“No need to be harsh on me, Harry. I guess you prefer to keep that disfigured girlfriend of yours hidden with her engines, and I wouldn’t take pride on parading a around the ginger whore, either. Wise decision.”

Harry felt his body betraying him. He should not have done anything, really. Hermione and Ginny couldn’t care less what the prat thought of them, and this was indeed a very public event, but he was about to hit him. He should just give a witty answer and let it be, but the conversation with Ron had left him angry and bothered all over and maybe a small part of him was playing with the idea of what might happen if he tried to use his gift with Draco Malfoy. Couldn’t he burn him alive, using that smelly gel hair of his? 

With not a small amount of wonder, he felt his fingertips warm up. Maybe...

“Potter! I was just looking for you!”' like a saving angel, Minerva McGonagall descended from the heaves -crossed the romm in his direction- to take Malfoy way from him.

The woman wore a dark, long dressed that managed to look elegant and impresebly old-fashioned at the same time, and the severe gesture in her face made Malfoy close his mouth faster than Harry could say 'hi'

"Minerva' Harry smiled at her sincerly, his shoulders loosing a bit of the stiffnes and that little pulse at his fingers fading away "Always a pleasure to see you, did you enjoy the race?'

McGonagall looked directly at Malfoy for a second longer than what was strictly necessary before lookig back to the messy hair and green eyes that was her pilot. The hard edges in her eyes vanished almost instantly and Harry took a not so subtle breath when the anger that had almost pinned Malfoy in spot dissaperaed before he had to feel it too.

"You know i'm not the biggest fan of this encounters, mr. Potter. But i would never miss your celebration party. You did an amazing job out there, and I'm impressed with Mrs. Granger's new desings, I never thought the Nimbus 2000 would be such a succesful motorbike. Your friend trudly is a engineering prodigy.”

Harry smile grew, proud of her friend. Hermione was exceptional, no doubt, and the fact that someone could recgnize her skills made him feel like the whole thing was worth it.

“She should be here anytime now, Mrss. McGonagall, I'm sure she would love to hear those praises herself. She worked very hard on the motor designs, but i shouldnt say anything more, seeing we have... company”

Harry smiled at Draco, who was loking between Harry and McGonagall not knowing what to do. He knew Harry should have introduced him right when McGonagall had started the conersation, and his 'rich boy' senses where probavly ticking right now. He couldnt leave the conversation without saying goobye because he was supposed to have maners, and while he had never used his maners with Harry or his friends for that matter, he knew better than disrespecting the CEO of the Gryffindor S.A. Harry couldn’t hide a smile.

"Oh, Draco Malfoy. Pleasure." McGonagalls voice didnt sound all that pleased "I've been told you earned a second place in your las race. Congratulations”  
Malfoy had to give her credit for that beautiful insult, that was obvious. His face also told he was not liking it.

“Draco, I wasn’t aware of your friendship with your fellow rivals!”

And just like that, out of nowhere, the most ridiculously handsome man Harry had ever seen stepped right into the conversation.

He was stupidly tall. That was the first thing he could think of when he saw his face. Stupidly tall and stupidly handsome, like those marvel statues preserved in museums. Beauty just as cold and weirdly time less.

It was all really anticlimactic. The fact that people like that existed and just entered conversations that casually was just, well, dull.

It was probably a very stupid thought upon meeting someone, how absolutely ordinary the first meeting was. But the charming smile and kind dark eyes didn’t seem to match with simply entering a conversation. Maybe Harry should have noticed him before, walking through the crowd. Maybe he could have appeared while Harry was serving himself a drink. Hell, maybe he could have heard about him before the party and actually looked for him. Dear lord, he dressed like he owned the place!

Maybe Harry was thinking too much, again.

Before he could really form an sort of opinion about the man, he did it for him. His dark brown eyes looked at him for a second, before he ignored him completely.  
He didn’t look at him twice. Literally. 

Malfoy’s smugness was practically physical.

“My lady, this is my most cherished sponsor, Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

The man smiled, all charm, in McGonagall’s direction, and even made a slight bow with his head. He didn’t even look at Harry. Erase that, he looked pass Harry as I’d he was made of clear glass. Not all interesting, not at all there. 

Petunia would have congratulated him.

“The pleasure is all mine, Riddle” McGonagall was also polite, but Harry couldn’t believe the man had had the nerve to not introduce himself. The whole party was basically made for him and while Harry was not at all attention-seeking he thought that been completely ignored while standing right in front of someone was not a very nice feeling. 

“Harry Potter” He introduced himself, offering his hand to the man with a daring gesture. See if he could refuse a direct presentation.

Something crushed him. There was no other words for it. He felt like the cealing had suddenly collapsed on top of him and he had to stood there, resisting the force of it so it wouldn't kill him. Breathing became harder, his mouth dried out. He was being pressed against the floor so hard he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t fell to the ground yet.

His shoulders tensed, and then he saw the man’s smile. It was a weird one. Like he was laughing at him. Dark, really dark eyes gleamed, and as suddenly as the crushing sensation came, it left.

Now there was just Riddle, and his mocking smile.  
“Oh, yes, Harry… Potter. The winner of the World Cup. What an honor, indeed.” His lips curved just on the edges, and while Harry not short Riddle didn’t do anything to acknowledge he had almost a good head over him, only letting his eyes look down at his face disinterested 

Malfoy was openly grinning now, and just like the crushing sensation that had left Harry with weak knees, Riddle’s attention left him with his words at the tip of his tongue, to go back to McGonagall.

“All this burocracy and politics. In my times people raced because the feeling of the blood rushing through their veins was enough. But times change, I guess.” Riddle’s hand never left Draco’s shoulder, and the fact that the boy seemed unconcern was getting on Harry's nerves. He personally preferred condescending hands to remain right next to the condescending persons’ body and not near him, thanks “That’s one of the main reasons why I don’t stay in Britain that much anymore, actually. Changes are good but we have the bad habit of either changing very fast or never really change. We have lost that charm.”

If she felt uncomfortable with the attention she hided it very well. Harry’s boss looked like she would sooner invite Tom Riddle to tea than to leave.

“Oh, I understand. When I was young I even competed myself you see? Now I’m in charge of making sure none of this fine young Gryffindors break their necks and make the brand loose a fortune, but I really miss the old spirit”

“Then you are as wise as you look, my lady.” And he took her hand and kissed the back of it like it was something everyone did on daily basis.

McGonagall’s smile was something Harry had never seen before. It was like she was trying really hard not to feel flattered but couldn’t contain herself. Her eyes had a unmistakable shine to them and if Harry hadn’t known her better he would have said she was blushing. If his body hadn’t been still trembling with the crushing sensation -which was strange, or well, stranger than what usually happened to him- would have asked her up she was feeling sick all of the sudden.

“It’s nice to see that not all men have lost British politeness, Mr Riddle. Will you be staying around?”  
Harry was completely lost. Five seconds ago Mr Riddle was plain Riddle but now McGonagall was looking at those dark brown eyes like they belonged to the epitome of the english gentleman. Ron would never believe this. 

Riddle’s hand tensed a second on Malfoys arm before the man smiled again, perfect teeth and unfairly handsome looks on display.

“Well, seeing as I am young Draco’s primal sponsor it might not be a good idea to hang around your engineering section, Mrs McGonagall. I think we both would like to keep our secrets.”

“Nonsense, everyone knows Slytherin also works in motocross competitions. Maybe we should organize a small race, too keep you from thinking Britain has lost it's charm?”

Harry went rigid. Wait what?

“I don’t th-“

“Blaise could do it” Malfoys voice felt like he was personally signing Harry’s death sentence, and was about to cheerfully dig his grave “We could make it a little second chance after that one time he lost against you, Harry, all those years ago, right when you where still raising from the unknown”

Harry looked at McGonagall, trying to find some kind of help in her, but she was apparently overwhelmed by this Riddle man. She smiled at him, and nodded, like Malfoy’s idea could single handedly make him win a Nobel Prize.

“An excellent idea mister Malfoy, excellent I say! We should do it tomorrow, Saturdays always have the tracks clear for some practice.”

This had to be a nightmare. Harry’s body still hurt from the actual race and knowing himself he would only feel worse the next morning. Oh jeez he was going to be forced to wake up early, wasn’t he?

“I’m afraid we must have to leave it for another day then, my lady. I’ll be having some important meetings during the whole weekend, motoGP never sleeps, as hard as I needed it to, some times.”

But McGonagall seemed not okay with that answer. She insisted and insisted until Riddle murmured and innocent ‘if it could have only been tonight”

McGonagall’s eyes light up, and Harry knew there was no way out.

He followed McGonagall out of the room, head low and still in disbelieve. If McGonagall wasn't her boss (and the boss of the Weasleys, and Hermione) he would have tried to discuss with her, but he himself was not really sure what to complain about. Yes he was tired. Yes he wanted to sleep. But it would be worst in the morning, and McGonagall looked so weird. She had smiled twice and to a stranger, no less.

His gust twisted again, and the sensation of something pressing him down to the ground returned before disappearing completely.

When he turned around, the man was smirking.

-0-

Harry adjusted his helmet tightly around his head and flexed his fingers with caution making sure his gloves allowed him the mobility they where supposed to. Part of him -a really big part of him- wasn’t even sure how he had ended up there, in the middle of the practice field, Hermione’s lovely Nimbus 2000 engine beneath him and Blaise Zabini side-glaring at him to death. 

McGonagall’s cheers remind him what he was doing.  
He couldn’t say no to her. She was his sponsor and while lots of other people would love to have them on their teams Gryffindor was Hermione’s home. Ron might follow him under another sponsors wing, but both of them had met Hermione in McGonagalls labs and Harry knew she would not leave them without a really good excuse. So, keeping McGonagall happy was a must.

Usually, this was a simple rule to follow. Minerva McGonagall was a powerful, respectable and intelligent woman whose happiness was easily achievable. Do your job, be good at it, and don’t you dare leave politeness home when talking to her. All simple things.

Some days she wanted you to race another pilot at night because a hot, posh man was polite and wanted a show. Not that simple.

“Are you ready, Potter?” Zabini’s deep voice sounded even deeper behind his helmet, but the obvious teasing tone was not lost to Harry.

“To wipe the floor with your sorry ass? Always, Zabini. Personal hobby of mine, don’t you remember?”

The sound of an engine roaring in anger was the only response, and he couldn’t help but laugh as he grabbed the clear googles from his helmet and put them in front of his eyes. His reduce visibility did not stop him from finding McGonagalls spot right out the track and, right beside her, that tall Riddle man. Feeling bold he shot the man a smug grin he couldn’t see but hoped he felt and salute the adults with a military gesture. Zabini’s engine roared as it came to life and Harry couldn’t help but brush out laughing as he saw the bright green back of the Slytherin’s helmet rush past him.

“Cheating this early on the game?” He shouted. Then his left foot pressed down in a fluid and firm motion, and when his hand turned the handle to let the bike roar Harry Potter made his Nimbus 2000 fly over the dirt.  
Zabini was fast, that was obvious, but his tactics hadn’t change at all. He was leaving a big stele of dirt and maybe a year ago his plan of blinding his opponent would have made Harry turn and dangerously try to get away from it, but Harry now knew better. 

“Steady breath, firm wrists and don’t you dare crush Hermione’s bike or I’ll personally murder you”. Ron’s words had always been inspirational in unusual ways.

His contacts felt a bit dry in his eyes, a reminder that he should have gotten ride of them before the dinner (before Malfoy and McGonagall and that annoying Riddle), but turn to the left, and the first jump welcomed him with open arms. Zabini got to the top first, and turned to face him and gave him thumbs up. His face was covered but Harry just knew he was smirking at him. Blinking a few times he reached the top of the (monMontana??) Just when Zabini was already landing in the other side, and he felt the wheels of his moto leaving the ground maybe a second earlier than they should have.

The Potter Luck was not happy about Zabini Wining, apparently.

Well, Harry could help on that.

The second he stopped flying he rushed forward, back tensed and his figure just a breath away from the Slytherin. They jumped once, twice again, and in the forth turn Zabini slowed down, and Harry felt a tingling sensation rushing from his guts all the way up to the very tips of his fingers.

‘Now’ Harry's mind cleared, and his breath slowed down. He knew he was now glued to the ground. He would not fall. ‘We go now’.

Harry’s motorbike vibrated for a second, and then it speeded up on its own. His left leg sticked out and he passed Zabini.

He heard a couple of muffled insults directed his way from the other pilot and he smiled, the tingling sensation melting away. The nest part of the track was filled with irregular, unleveled digs and dangerous curves but Harry was now ahead and winning was just a matter a pure time.

Jump, turn, make sure you are firmly on the floor and soon Harry saw the finish line right in front of him, and crossed it like the devil was on his heels.

McGonagall would be proud. 

Harry removed his Googles and howled a loud laugh, sticking his arms up in the air. Zabini’s bike stopped right beside him, and if Harry had been anyone else he would have probably felt insulted by the rain of dirt the Slytherin had propusly send his way. But was not anyone else, so he smiled to the raging pilot and got off his bike.

“You are getting really good, Zabini. I’m sure next year you’ll qualify again.” He offered his hand.

Zabini was still sitting on his bike and looked down to Harry’s hand with a sneer. He groaned, and then turned his bike on again and left.

Harry stood there for a couple of extra seconds, hand still in the air, until Zabini’s green bike was out of sight. What had just happened? Why did this always happened when he tried to be polite with him?

Deciding to let it go he turned, expecting to find Malfoy with his sponsor glaring at him, but the smug smirk he had carefully crafted just for the two of them fell from his face. Only McGonagall was there, waving at him with a proud smile brightening her face.

“Come up here, mister Potter! What a beautiful performance!”

He sighed, and couldn’t help but smile back at her, his smugness melting away just like his secret luck had.  
He didn’t really thought about the strange crushing feeling, for some reason.  
-0-

Hermione’s ‘lab’, as she liked to call it was the messiest yet most organized pace Harry had ever put a foot in. It didn’t matter where in the glove they dragged her, she always seemed to be able to place her items in the very same spots.

“Careful with the turbine” Hermione practically growled at him. McGonagall had informed her of his… friendly race and she had not been pleased.

The engine needs to rest, Harry. The wheels were not properly inflated, Harry. Using your secret was reckless and stupid, Harry. 

Hermione always called Harry's strange quality ‘his secret’, as opposed to Ron, who called it ‘his luck’. They both thought Harry was stupid for using it in public, apparently. 

“You boyfriend has already told me that I’m an idiot, you can stop the passive-aggressive act now. Consider me positively dragged” 

Hermione shot him an angry glare.

“Harry this is serious. Last night-“

“Last night could have been a disaster, but it wasn’t. Nothing happened, Hermione. Relax. We have been doing this for years…”

Her friend wanted to answer with another angry remark, he could see it in her eyes. They where gleaming dangerously and Harry prepared himself for a long, angry rant. Maybe he would be able to calm her if-

“You have mail by the way.” She sneered in his direction, her head turning again to face the intricate grey mass of metal and cables sitting in front of her. Harry would asked her if it was the new microphone that supposed to be placed inside his helmet, but he didn’t dare to anger her with the remainder of why exactly it needed to be replaced. It was fun how his friendships where so determined by how much could Harry not say the wrong thing. “In the table, besides the door.”

He turned, not sure if taking his eyes of her was a good idea just yet. Hermione had a mean way of throwing things at people when angry. He turned around, and located the creamy envelope with ease.

“Is this another invitation for a fancy party?” He picked it up, and the little frown that had colored his face at the thought of dressing up again after only two days deepened. The paper used was rigid and thick, nothing like his usual mail. He flipped the document trying to find out who could have send it, but his own name -the complete one, no J. but James and everything, Harry realized astonished- was the only thing breaking the cream color. 

“If it’s a party invitation I suggest you to ask for the poor bastard who had to write them. A really pretty calligraphy.”

Trust Hermione to be able to tell apart pretty computer calligraphy from someone’s actual handwriting. Harry could felt his frown fade a bit, the corners of his lips curving in amusement. If someone out there was really making some poor woman write their party invitations he would definitely have her contacted and at least express his condolences for her most than probable abused wrist.

Eyeing the beautiful curves that adorned his name, he ripped the envelope open, and took the letter out. A letter, not a fancy invitation.

“Hermione, was this in the mail, or did someone come here to-“ Harry lost his breath after the second line, and a shiver run down his spine.

Hermione was suddenly right by his side, a hand on his shoulder and a worried face.

“What is it? Why are you pal- oh”

Harry didn’t have to look at her to know her eyes had widen and that she was reading the letter over his shoulder. Her breath tickled the skin of his neck and if Harry hadn’t been so shocked he would have probably teased her about forgetting her anger so quickly.

“What- what did you do during that stupid race, Harry?”  
Hermione’s voice was quiet and calm, but he could hear the apprehension in her words. He read the letter again, and he felt a slight chill run down his spine. 

“Well, it’s not like you can't say no, really.” Hermione took the letter from his hands, and scanned it again like trying to find every single intention behind its existence “McGonagall would not be happy about this, meeting with another sponsor like this is not… appropriate. Although the World Cup is definitely over, and-“

Harry blinked in her general direction, still unsure of what to think. The letter was polite enough. Proper enough. But both Hermione and him could hear some kind of not so subtle warning behind the pretty words.  
But was there? A warning? Or was Harry just particularly paranoid during Saturday mornings?

“Maybe we are being paranoid.” He heard himself say. “Maybe it is just… a friendly chat. We have met, and-“

The pretty handwriting, with the nice loops on the P and the J looked like they where sharp smirks now, laughing at him. Teasing and smug. 

Not a woman, that was now clear.

“…coffee, perhaps? I believe we have much to discuss, mister Potter. I really do. 

T.M.Riddle.”

-0-

“Can we go over why this is a good idea again?”

“You know we can’t just ignore the possibility of him knowing something, Hermione.”

“And what are supposed to do if he knows, Ron? Then what? Harry apologizes and runs, with the both of us at his heels?”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually.”

Harry was sitting in the back of Hermione’s car, black suit trousers combined with a dark blue, buttoned up shirt, and yet completely unprepared for the fancy restaurant they where heading towards. Ron shot him a deathly glare from the front sit, and Harry added another cup of Ron’s anger to the mixture of terrible feelings inside of his stomach, which was twisting and threatening to making him throw up. His best friend had not liked the news about the letter. At all. He had grown pale and then green and finally a deep, angry red when Hermione had told him how Riddle might have known something strange was going on. He had glared at Harry during the whole weekend, murmuring under his breath things like “I knew” and “I told him so”.

Both affirmations where true, but they where not helping Harry feel better. Quite the opposite, really.

He knew -objectively, anyway- that it was really improbable that Riddle wanted to talk about what the three of them thought he wanted to talk about. It was just too fantastic, too strange. Even Harry wasn’t able to fully explain what happened when he was consciously using his luck. Ron had predicted that Riddle would probably just try to court him under his wings to become his new sponsor, leaving Gryffindor without one of their best pilots. 

He, like Harry and Hermione, had spent the whole weekend stealing glances at the delicate letter with a bad feeling.

Ron also looked livid and kept shooting fast glances at his writs watch, so similar to Harry’s own. Ron’s mother had given it to him on his 17 birthday, and both of them had been delighted about the similarity. Today Harry was not wearing it. Not fancy enough for the suit, Hermione had told him.

He felt stupidly naked without it.

“If anything happens” Hermione, hands in the steering wheel, looked also concerned, but undeniably gorgeous in her blue dress “Remember we will be just a bunch of tables away. Just-“ she looked like she wanted to say more, do more, but had run out of words.

The three of them knew there was no real reason to be afraid. Riddle hadn’t even insinuated anything aside of talking. They where being paranoid. Nothing was going to happen. Riddle would try to impress Harry with fancy words and lots of money, then just a lot of money, and maybe with violence against his family. The usual. The Durleys had yet to knock at his door complaining about being murderer in their sleep which meant one, Gryffindor took care of their pilots, and two, the people trying to blackmail Harry into joining their brands had no actual clue about his life, which was very satisfying. Riddle would probably be just the same. Not the first one who thought he could win Harry over with a coffee at a fine restaurant and certainly not the last, but not worthy of a second thought. 

And still, the slight unease was still gripping his insides.

“Okay Harry” Hermione said softly “This is your stop”

The car stopped moving right in front of a big golden door, and Harry couldn’t help but hesitate for a second. Ron had decided Hermione and him would go inside of the restaurant after Harry was already in, so it wouldn’t look like they where together. Riddle had asked only for him, after all, but for some reason he didn’t want to let his friends out of his sight. Not for the first time that day, he thought the he may be leading them towards something dangerous. It was an awkward feeling that wouldn’t leave him alone but he couldn’t even say why he thought that meeting could be a danger to anyone but himself. Even if his… secret was what this was all about, it was Harry’s. They should not have anything to do with it.

Ron turned around so fast Harry could have swore he had read his thoughts.

“Everything will be fine, mate.”

Harry searched for anger in his friend’s eyes, knowing Ron thought he had been caught. But his clear eyes held nothing but determination and Harry thank him for hiding any doubts he might had. He put his trust in Ron’s fearless eyes like he always did before a race and pushed the door firmly, stepping out of the car, Barcelona’s warm air welcoming him.

The street was crowded and the day was warm, sun shining unforgivable and elevating the temperature to something no good British could really stand, but no passers-by looked in their direction or acknowledged their presence. For a second Harry felt invisible.  
It was not a normal feeling, but it was so pleasant he almost forgot where he was. Then Hermione’s car left and he felt small and afraid again. 

Walking pass the front doors only made the strange feeling grow. 

A waiter approached him with a radiant smile and a very adjusted skirt, and if Harry hadn’t felt so inexplicably anxious he would have stared longer at her never-ending legs, but instead he felt his cheeks getting red. Her smile grew bigger and he cursed under his breath.

“Buenas tardes, está esperando a alguien?”

“Sorry, I… English?”

Her smile didn’t change but a small frown of concentration appeared between his brows. 

“How can I help you this lovely afternoon, señor?” She had a hard Spanish accent that sounded weirdly nice on her, and her eyes where warm and kind and if Harry was Dean he would have probably fallen in love with her just because of them.

“I have, ugh, a reservation? I mean not me, Riddle has it, I least I think so, because you know he is the one who decided to meet her-“ Harry stopped himself when he heard her laugh. She was looking at him funny, and he blushed again. He could have cursed because one, why was he blushing? And two, his blush was really unattractive and he had probably lost any chance he could have ever gotten with the pretty waitress. At least she hadn’t recognize him. Which was also strange, but Harry thanked the universe anyway for Barcelona and the fact that he was not a football player but a motocross pilot.

“El señor Riddle is waiting” She said, blushing a bit herself -a really nice one, just warming the apples of her cheeks- when she grab a menu “Follow me please”  
She turned, her uniform guiding him through the sea of tables and smart suits.

And of course Riddle was already waiting for him.

The man was wearing another suit that once again looked like it was worth twice Harry’s own. He wasn’t even looking in Harry’s direction, too occupied inspecting the restaurant’s back garden through the windows. Why had he invited him, again? He could hardly say he had left an impression in the man in the party, and while racing with Zabini had been exciting it was nothing compared to Harry’s most well known races. 

The table was not what Harry was expecting. Too public. Unless the man owned the restaurant and every customer in it there was no way whatever conversation he wanted to have would remain confidential. That could either be a good sign or a very, very bad one.

“Señor, su acompañante acaba de llegar” the pretty waitress announced, and Harry wished he knew more Spanish than the words involved in orders barked at him during a race. 

But none of that mattered because the moment Tom Riddle decided to give both of them any kind of attention, his dark eyes pinned Harry to the spot, sending another chill down his spine. His mind was shouting danger and there was nothing Harry could do about it.

“Gracias Nuria, siempre es un placer verte” He commented, his eyes never leaving Harry. The girl blushed, said something else in Spanish and handed Harry the menu with another beautiful smile. I’m the blink of an eye, he was alone with the tall, and now terrifying Tom Riddle.

The man was smiling at him. Not an evil smirk, but a nice, charming smile like the one he had wore during the party after the World Race. Like the one he had offered McGonagall but denied him. Harry couldn’t help but stare.

“Please, Harry, sit down. I wouldn’t like anyone to think you find this meeting unpleasant, when you know you had no obligation to come in the first place.” The smile didn’t turn sharper, his voice didn’t change from the polite tone he had used with the waitress and yet Harry felt a wave of plain fear. It was confusing and irritating but the fear would just not leave him, clawing at him with a persistent anxiety.

He took a sit, more falling on the chair than actually sitting on it, and this time Riddles’ smile did grow. A new waitress served Harry the same wine Riddle was casually sipping and left. Harry's heart was racing like crazy.

“Lovely day, don’t you think so, mister Potter?” The man said, his eyes still not leaving him “I love this part of the city, so quiet, so… anonymous. Quite nice for people like us.” He took another sip at his drink and Harry trembled. 

“I- yes? It’s nice, I guess.” He had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from start stuttering. Something was not okay, he was feeling more terrified with each second that passed. Riddles’ eyes looked so amused from behind his glass cup, brown and dark and for a second Harry thought they matched the deep red of the wine before he blinked and the only thing he could focused on was fear.

He needed to get out of there. No, he needed to stay, make sure this dangerous man would not feel displeased. Keep him happy, keep him calm-

No. He didn’t have to do anything.

It was like Harry had been inside a bubble someone had just popped with a pin.

The fear banished. The apprehension, the tension and the paranoia abandoned his body like he had built a wall between himself and them. He could feel them, those feelings, right outside of it, waiting for a small weakness to crawl right back in his head. 

He gasped out loud. He could feel something over his shoulders, like a warm blanket, smoothing him.

“10 minutes. Impressive.”

Harry hadn’t noticed he had lowered his eyes, but he snapped them right up again. Riddle was still smiling, the blood red wine glass still in his hand, its content spinning lazily. But his eyes where sharper, darker, amused and oddly satisfied.

“Although I guess we should count the whole weekend you have been exposed to the hex, so I’ll give you one minute back. Nine minutes, truly impressive. Even more for someone so obviously never exposed to direct magic before.”

Riddle drank again, and made a gesture with his face that somehow attracted a waiter. Harry heard the exchange some words in Spanish and nod at each other before he was capable of talking. 

“… The fuck?”

The waiter looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and Riddle smiled did turn into a smirk. He went back to ignore Harry in favor of ordering something incredibly fancy by the way it sounded, like he hadn’t say something completely crazy in a restaurant full of people. He wasn’t even looking-

“I said. What. The. Fuck.” Harry was pissed. Really pissed. When that bubble of fear had been popped it had left just anger and stress behind, two emotions Harry was famous for not handling nicely.

Riddle still looked amused, just like he had in the party before he had decided to give Harry the cold shoulder, and Harry was starting to see red.

“What is so funny?"

“I guess you have a sharper mouth when my fear hex is not playing around your head. Now we only need to find out if you also have a sharp mind.”

He dismissed the waiter and Harry still couldn’t believe those words had come out his mouth again.

“Your what? Hex? DID YOU DRUG ME?” Harry was yelling. In the restaurant. He really didn’t care.

Riddle was still looking at him with that annoying glint in his eyes, like Harry was just a little kid and he was the adult finding his tantrum endearing. 

“Sit, Harry” He demanded, voice soft and silk.

“I won’t-“

“I did not drug you. Not really. I used magic on you, a behavior some would definitely link to drugging someone but it’s completely different, I assure you.”

Harry stared again. Hard. 

“… What?”

Riddle was suddenly too close. He moved forward, elbows resting on the table and Harry was no longer able to breath. His brown eyes had a hungry look in them, and Harry had seen enough people lusting after him to know the hunger was not that kind of hunger. Riddle looked smug and excited and Harry couldn’t talk. The intensity of the stare left his mouth dry.

“Harry” and Harry had never before realize just how personal a name could sound until Riddle said his with that strange passion “Do you ever do things you can’t explain? When you are angry, or scared? Things that seem impossible to explain no matter how much you try?”

Harry’s mouth was more than dry. His brain, too. Shit.

“You are a wizard, Harry.”

… what?

“Wow, what a meal. Nice to chat with you Riddle, but I think I’ll pass.”

Riddle lost that spark in his eyes, and his smile turned a bit strange at the ends.

“Harry…”

“Look, I really appreciate the fancy meal and all, I’m sure it would have been delicious, but I’m not interested in whatever cult thing you want to sell to me.” Harry was standing up, looking around trying to find his friends. When had he forgotten about them? Where were they? “If this is Malfoy’s idea of a joke I’m really impressed, really, but-“

“Mister Potter, sit down”

“Don’t do this harder than it has to be, Riddle.”

Harry stopped looking at him. Again. He actually made a big point in not doing it. Anywhere but him. The anger was pretty clear in Riddle’s voice, no need to actually see it.

“I said-“

“Yeah look…”

“I said” and Harry had to look, the venom in those words was just impossible to ignore “Sit. Down.”

Something grabbed Harry’s writs. Literally. He felt something circling both of them and pull down, down, when another one of those things grabbed his waist and sat him back on the chair. Harry's eyes should look like ping pong balls because that’s how he felt them. Too big to fit in his head. He tried to get up again, but he couldn’t move. At all. His body seemed glued to the chair. He tried to speak, only to find his tongue couldn’t move, either. 

This time, the panic was all his. 

“Maybe now we can have this conversation” the tone was dangerous and angry and Harry tried to escape again, but his violent movements didn’t even show on his body. He was perfectly still.

Riddle had a paper. And envelope, really. Just as creamy as the one Harry had received two days before, on a Saturday morning. 

“You see Harry, I am not trying to sell you something” He was opening it, and he took a cell phone out of it “I put a confusing hex mixed some always useful dementor-recreation curse of my own making, to make sure you will fear me enough to do what I asked”

He kept throwing those words at him like harry was supposed to know what it meant. And maybe Riddle could read minds as well as gluing people to furniture because he looked at him with a smirk and continue.

“I know, so many new words.” It was patronizing and annoying “But it’s okay, you will soon enough get use to them. You are strong. I felt it that night. I see it, now. My hex should have had you crying I’m fear by now, but look at you. Still struggling against my magic.”

This couldn’t be happening. The man was crazy. God he was at the mercy of a madman with some kind of hypnosis powers.

“I had heard rumors, obviously.” The man continued, and turned the phone on like he was just going to check a twitter notification, like if Harry wasn’t right there. Glued to a chair. Having a conversation about magic in a public restaurant where anyone could hear them but no one seemed to care. “But who hasn’t, right? The Boy Who lived.”

His tone was mocking, again.

“Miraculously surviving every accident, always untouched! Some said your luck comes from your very beginnings, don’t they? That tragic car accident…”

Harry tried to free himself again, hating the way the conversation had taken. He wanted to scream at him not to dare talk about his parents, not to dare-

“… a baby, surviving something so terrible, with just… a little… scar. But that’s the only extraordinary thing about you, is it? I wonder, did your eyes light up when you where a child, too?”

And with that, Riddle flipped the phone and Harry was staring at picture of himself in last year’s world tournament. He was in training, helmet off, in mid air. He knew he was falling, the position of his body told him so. And his eyes where shining with an unnatural green.  
He couldn’t breath.

“But I also wonder, how did you safe this jump? It was not possible, from the way you where positioned. You should have fell. Quite fatally I might add.” This picture was an actual race, six months ago “But your bike seemed decided do stay on its wheels no matter what… oh look there is the video”

Harry knew it. He remembered that particular race. His gift had saved him form an obvious death and his so called “Potter luck” had started to really kick in. It was not longer just luck, but incredible luck. The few papers that actually covered motocross had loved it.

“And it goes on” another video “and on” another picture, this one so old Harry was competing with a bright golden H in his suit “and on”.

“So see, Harry, I think we haven’t really addressed the issue I wanted to discuss before you so rudely called me crazy. What would McGonagall say of those manners of yours?”

“What do you want?” and Harry was happy he could talk but also scared because how was that he could talk again? Why hadn’t he been able to talk in the first place?

“Oh, that’s simple” Riddle was smiling again, all hard edges now “I want you to win a little race for me.”

That… did sound simple enough. There where no big motocross races in the near future, so Riddle only wanted him to win some friendly race-

“I want you to win The Isle Of Man senior TT for me.”

Well. Okay.

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t. It's not even the same kind of sport holy fuck”

“Language” He simply pointed out “And don’t be silly, both involve racing on a motorcycle. I don’t see much difference.”

“… much… difference.” 

This definitely couldn’t be happening. The Isle of Man TT was a high speed race. It was a motoGP race. It was not at all the kind of race Harry was trained for, or able to compete in. MotoGP was, by definition, the most dangerous kind of motor races ever created. Harry was a bit impressed Malfoy could jump on those bikes and actually raced at those speeds. Harry’s body was not trained for that. His reflexes and mind were not trained for high speed, but for obstacles and irregular tracks. 

There was no way he could win a race like that. He was not completely sure he would be able to make it out alive at all.

But that race. The one on Isle of Man. That one was suicide. It was already suicide for actually good high speed pilots, nevermind for him. It was supposed to be a race between the houses, circling the mountain in a traffic road with less than minimum protection and the do it all over again.

“No.”

“Sorry?” 

“I said no. You can’t force me to just sign my death contract just because what? You have the exact same photos anyone with connection can find if they have some free time? Good luck explaining your magic things to anyone. Now-“

“It looks like” Riddle was tensed again, his elbows still resting on the table but his face harder than before “I haven’t make myself clear. There is no no in this conversation, Harry. I have been polite enough to ask, but it was not an offering.”

The crushing feeling. Again. Now Harry couldn't belive he had ever forgotten about it. Hr was finding it hard to breath again and the chair beneath him seemed to press harder against him, his skin almost melting into it.

“There is no outcome other than yes, Harry”

“Or what?” I should shut up “ Are you going to do? Kill me? Turn me into a… frog or something, with your magic tricks?"

The smirk returned slowly to the man’s face.

“No, I can’t kill you, can I? I need you to win. No, see Harry. If you don’t win that race for me, I’ll kill those two friends of yours you tried to sneak into my restaurant. Into a meeting I clearly stated was private. A sad loose, for their magic was strong, but they are a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

He sipped the last of his wine.


End file.
